The magic in your eyes holds the starlight sneaking through my windows, and laying in stripes along my bedside. I guess it's the magic that you can make appear, disappear, and reappear as you see fitting. What I mean is your love.
Ocean wave love like a beautiful disaster but I can’t stop staring. Destruction rushing upon me, I stand and wait for the beauty that it will bring after. In this moment, I look around and wonder if this sand is really just the other souls you loved and crushed. They couldn’t withstand your destruction and crumbled to nothing but together, they are everything. Hidden gems occasionally surface and are collected by other souls as memories. How interesting it is that we collect the borders of what once held life other than our own and find beauty in the emptiness. But to love our own emptiness would mean killing parts of ourselves that aren’t ready to let go.
I wish I could see the mountains that you climb. I want you to know that you are never alone. As long as I’m alive, you will never be alone. I want to follow the lines in the palms of your hands and compare them to mine. I want to see where on the path we met, and where we’re going.
Words for you balance off of the tip of my tongue and hang from the wrecking ball in the back of my throat. Imagine constantly living with the feeling of needing to say something but the words refuse to vacate. My words grow more meaning the longer they occupy my space. Then I feel the need to find a million more ways to explain what it’s like to be in love with you.
About the Creator
Caitlin Parsons
26 years old. STL.
Keep reading
More stories from Caitlin Parsons and writers in Poets and other communities.
Miles
Window seat to see everything, feeling nothing, and going anywhere. It reminds me of being in love. I'm used to gazing in to your galaxy, brushing away the constellations collecting in the corners of your eyes. Maybe it's the way the moonlight kisses your face. Makes me want to do the same except I can't close in on the space. We've distanced ourselves by 1,432 miles, but gravitate around each other like we're the sun and the moon. You contact me twice a year, talk soon.
By Caitlin Parsons6 years ago in Poets
The Reluctant Reporter
"You can't send me!" "There is no-one else. It's you or no-one, and that is not an option." Ameera looked at the fat paunch and florid face of her boss, a man who lived for the story and the kudos it brought him but who rarely gave consideration to the people behind the drama. When had he become so hard? She reckoned that by the end of the year, he'd be dead, collapsed from a heart attack and she struggled to conjure any sympathy in that moment and instantly felt ashamed at displaying the same lack of compassion that he had.
By Rachel Deeming7 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.